


I can't stop rescuing you

by Dusty



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Candy, Couch Sex, Dom Crowley (Good Omens), Domestic Discipline, Halloween, Light Dom/sub, Love, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Penises, Spanking, Spanktober, Spooky fans, Sub Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-13 21:30:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21004466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty/pseuds/Dusty
Summary: Everyone's favourite well-intentioned angel gets himself into trouble, which as we all know, is Crowley's sexuality.





	1. Chapter 1

The London weather was doing its October duty of being colder and wetter as the nights became longer, and mornings were aggressively gloomy. Crowley took this as his cue to have long,  _ grompy snek _ lie-ins, leaving his angel to his early-to-rise sunny disposition. 

When Crowley would finally get up and look for Aziraphale, he would invariably find the angel in an irritating morning-person mood, cradling another pumpkin spice latte monstrosity, having returned from picking up a new rare book or simply enjoying the fresh air. 

This morning was no different. Crowley was peaceful and relaxed following a long sleep, and the mid-morning light was beginning to brighten after a heavy shower. He padded down the stairs and through the door to the shop floor. It was still and empty. 

‘Angel?’ called Crowley. 

Exactly then, Aziraphale bustled in through the door, becoming rather flustered as he tried to juggle his drenched umbrella, reusable coffee cup no doubt with a nice hot pumpkin spice latte inside, the bag for life which was hanging off an elbow with a book shaped object inside, and his keys. He was clearly unimpressed by the fact that the rain had defied gravity and significantly wet his overcoat.

‘Dammit!’ he swore, twirling in a circle as he tried to close the door behind him with his foot.

‘Angel, please. Language,’ teased Crowley with a broad grin. 

‘Oh, Crowley, you’re up early,’ panted Aziraphale, not really looking at the demon. He discarded the umbrella and popped the coffee down on his desk. He then removed his coat, quite put out as he shook off the damp and hung it up on the coat stand. 

‘It’s 11.30am, angel,’ said Crowley. 

‘Oh,’ said Aziraphale, still curiously avoiding eye contact. ‘Is it? Time does fly, doesn’t it!’

The angel’s blue eyes darted to the demon and then away very quickly, as he picked up his coffee and took a long, restorative sip. He sat down at his desk, popped his glasses on and tried to look busy.

Crowley pushed his hands into his pockets and narrowed his eyes. ‘Where have you been?’ he asked casually. But not really that casually, being as he was intensely invested in knowing what was going on.

The hairs on the back of Aziraphale’s neck stood up, and Crowley’s demonic senses picked up a little vibe of guilt. 

‘Aziraphale?’ he warned.

The angel shifted around in his chair. ‘Who me? Oh, nowhere. Just… around!’

Crowley glared at him and swaggered over. ‘Why are you lying to me?’ he asked darkly.

Aziraphale sighed. ‘Oh well if you must know, I’m planning a little something. For you.’ He said it sweetly. It could have been the truth. It might have been. But Crowley felt it wasn’t  _ all _ of the truth. 

‘For me?’ asked Crowley, touched nonetheless. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, well,’ said Aziraphale brightly. ‘You once told me you’re a big spooky fan. And it’s that time of year.’

Crowley’s baleful glare turned into an expression of fear. ‘Oh, no, Aziraphale, please…’

‘Halloween! When all the little spooks come out to play!’

‘No, Aziraphale,’ said Crowley, trying to be stern. ‘It’s not spooky… it’s  _ tacky _ .’

‘It’s not tacky, it’s fun!’ 

‘No, it’s demeaning. It’s for children. And Americans.’

Aziraphale gave the demon a more serious look. ‘My dear, do you really think I’d come up with something so pedestrian, for a demon of your calibre?’

Crowley sneered. ‘Dunno,’ he said. 

‘It will be the real deal. Properly spooky.’ He smiled warmly. 

Crowley thought about this. He did like this time of year for lurking in the dark, and by dark he meant enjoying the closeness of the underworld. ‘Well, if you mean Samhain and dancing in stone circles in the mist with proper reverence for spirits and death, then fine.’

‘My dear boy, weren’t they  _ Pagans _ ?’

‘Yes exactly. Nice people,’ said Crowley. ‘Won’t find  _ them _ on your doorstep, threatening to egg your car if you don’t hand over sweets and chocolate. Little shits.’ 

Aziraphale took a deep breath. ‘It will be something you’d like. I promise.’

Crowley frowned at him, then gave up. It was probably some stupid magic trick, or borderline flashy miracle. Better to leave Aziraphale to feel clever. ‘All right. Whatever,’ said the demon, sauntering over to the wine.

‘It’s a little early,’ called Aziraphale, hearing the sound of the cork popping.

‘It’s medicinal,’ replied Crowley caustically.   
  


Days later, it was still raining. Crowley kept threatening to create a microclimate in Soho so they could sit in the square, but Aziraphale kept telling him there would be no surprise if he did something so outlandish. 

Crowley knew the surprise was going to be ridiculous. But he also wanted to know what the surprise was, so he tolerated all of Aziraphale’s behaviour, from the scurrying around in the early morning to the leverage the ‘spooky surprise’ gave the angel in matters of keeping Crowley ‘halo whipped’ as he called it. 

But Crowley was bored. It wasn’t the rain so much, it was Aziraphale’s distance. It had gotten to the point where Crowley felt there was no way in the nine circles of hell that the angel’s stupid surprise could be worth this secrecy and distraction.

And so it was, Crowley had too much wine and couldn’t be bothered to sober up. He simply went to bed early, leaving the angel to pour over an old, dusty book. 

The demon woke up suddenly, his mouth dry, his head thudding. And that is why sobering up is essential, he thought to himself, as he groggily made his way down to the kitchen for some water. He drank thirstily, then went to find Aziraphale. Peering at the clock, it was 1am. It was definitely time for the angel to be curling up around him. 

He walked out onto the shop floor, and at that moment, Crowley felt that perhaps he wasn’t a spooky fan after all. The candles had guttered. It was dark, and the angel was nowhere to be seen. Crowley knew instinctively Aziraphale was not in the shop. 

He miracled himself fully dressed and headed out of the door.

The rain had finally stopped, and the sky was so clear that even in central London, a scattering of stars was visible above. There was a chill. Being Soho, people were still out and about, the underground bars still doing business - their music and lights escaping onto the streets. 

Crowley walked around the streets he knew Aziraphale liked best, though he only knew them as a daytime trajectory. What on earth could Aziraphale be doing at this time of night? 

It wouldn’t do to call out ‘angel’ at 1am in Soho, so Crowley used his eyes as best as he could. After about 45 minutes of glaring into sleepy wine bars and peering down alley ways, Crowley felt that he was very much the lost one. 

‘Missing someone?’ came a cool voice.

Crowley turned. It was the archangel Michael.

‘Wank-wings!’ said Crowley happily. ‘How have you been?’

‘Oh I’m _very_ well,’ said Michael icily. ‘But I just hate to be the bearer of bad tidings.’

Crowley rolled his eyes. ‘Oh yeah, I bet you do. What tidings?’

‘Your boyfriend is in big trouble,’ said Michael. 

‘Oh when is he not?’ said Crowley, remaining as cavalier as he could. Of  _ course _ Aziraphale was in trouble. But where, and how?

‘Well indeed. He’s quite the fallen angel.’

Crowley went very pale and tried to get his heart to beat less loudly.

Michael smirked. ‘Oh don’t worry, he hasn’t fallen yet. Not yet.’

Crowley was unable to mask his exhale of relief. ‘Where is he?’ he spat. 

‘The Hellmouth,’ answered Michael.

‘What?’

‘The club. The old haunt. The dungeon. Whatever name they’ve come up for it lately. The one on Berwick street, grungy little corner of D’Arblay.' 

‘What the heaven is he doing in there?’

‘Sticking out like a sore thumb. Making the clientele uncomfortable. Stuffing up my operations. And, you'll be delighted to hear, asking questions about demonic possession.’

Crowley’s mouth fell open. The _IDIOT_. The club had changed hands and names over the years but was always known for being the darker, if not the darkest, dwelling place for people. And essentially, touring demons. Crowley gave it a wide birth because it was like hell’s own dive bar, and there wasn’t a person there who needed to be tempted into doing anything because they'd all done it before anyway. It happily festered all by itself. 

It was however, the one place you could go to have a chat with a demon, if you wanted to. The idea of Aziraphale going in there gave Crowley visions of an unwise stranger walking into an old west saloon bar, or a hungry British aristocrat strolling into revolutionary France for lunch, or a bookseller trying to outwit the Third Reich... a lamb amidst the wolves... 

He ran. His blood was boiling, heart pounding, throat so dry he felt he might choke. As he raced through the streets, Michael always felt just a couple of paces behind.

‘Run, demon, run,’ cooed Michael. ‘And get that little spaz out of there.’

Crowley didn’t have time to turn around and take a swipe at the archangel, which was probably a good thing. He sprinted through the night until he found himself thundering down the metal steps to the underground bar. A red neon sign said ‘Hellmouth’. The bulb on the u had died out. Crowley rolled his eyes and pushed the sweaty door open.

Inside, it was like a bar stuck in the 70s. Thick cigarette smoke filled the air, the walls were sweating, people were playing pinball and the dress sense was _terrifying_. Crowley felt a pang of nostalgia for some of it, especially his smoking days where he could be extra cool. But it had been some time, so his eyes watered, his sinuses swelled up and he coughed with significant un-coolness.

He turned. Michael was still hovering behind him. It might have even been a literal hover, Michael being creepy as heaven, but he couldn’t see due to the smoke. The archangel had miracled a black cape to be less conspicuous. As Crowley blinked into the white swirls of smoke, it became clear that light coloured clothing was as welcome as the plague in this establishment. Crowley realised all he had to do was look for a shock of white fluffy hair. But actually, he found Aziraphale as soon as he heard a well-spoken voice plead for his life.


	2. Chapter 2

‘I was just trying to strike up a civilised conversation!’ squealed Aziraphale. ‘There’s no need for this!’

‘Wanna know what it’s like to be a demon?’ asked a gravelly voice. It was Hastur. He was leering at Aziraphale, and so was the toad on his head. ‘Easy! That can be arranged, can’t it lads?’

There was some laughter that sounded like car engines flooding. More and more drinkers got up to investigate. When the angel had first walked into the bar, many had made a swift exit, assuming it was some kind of double cross. But the tides had turned. 

‘Angels should fear to tread in ‘ere,’ said Hastur, pulling out a dagger. ‘But you’re no angel, are you sweetheart? Oh no, you’ve been a very bad  _ creature _ .’

A crowd gathered around Aziraphale, all jeering and toothy grins, smelling rotten and dying to see an angel taught a lesson. Aziraphale felt himself shrinking. He tried to leave but a firm push from a tall, drunken demon kept him where he was. 

‘I could take your wings off, or paint them black. Or just stab you in the heart and send you back upstairs.’

‘Please! No! I didn’t come here to make any trouble! I would really appreciate not being discorporated. I can just leave!’ 

‘We can’t let you _just leave_,’ said Hastur, as some other demons sneered. ‘You’re not one of us. Or are you?’

‘I’m… I’m…’

‘Or maybe,’ said Hastur, stepping into Aziraphale’s personal space and making the angel feel like his skin was on fire. ‘Maybe you do belong. But we just need to make some calls. Get you your pass.’

‘No calls necessary!’ said Michael. 

Hastur, Aziraphale and the gaggle of demons blinked into the smokey air to see who’d spoken.

‘Ugh, Wank-Wings,’ said Hastur. ‘And Crawly. Even worse.’

‘Aziraphale!’ shouted Crowley. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Oh Crowley! Help!’ he tried to run to his demon, but the gang wouldn’t let him through.

Hastur laughed. ‘Aww did you lose your golden labrador,  _ Crawly _ ? Poor pup got himself lost. Going to have to report it, I’m afraid.’ 

‘I’m sure Aziraphale was just doing his duty, thwarting demonic activity in the locale,’ said Crowley, calmly. 

Crowley side-eyed Aziraphale, who was looking rather sheepish. 

‘Ha!’ blurted Hastur. The toad on his head burped. ‘Idiot was sniffing around asking if anyone knows how to demonically possess a motor vehicle.’

‘What?’

‘He said it was for Halloween.’

Aziraphale cringed. It would take a miracle to get out of this one.

Michael and Crowley shared a dark look as Hastur continued. 

‘What kind of an angel walks into a demon bar, looking like that, and starts asking, loudly, about demonic skills? Half the bloody bar got up and left. All our clients will assume the place has been blessed, or something disgusting. Idiot.’

Crowley glared at Aziraphale, who was still not looking at him. The angel was instead biting his lip, his fingers twisting together. There was profound squirming. 

Crowley, although feeling quite infuriated with his angel, felt a swell of both love and amusement. That angel knew he was in trouble. The blue eyes were glancing all over the place.

‘I’ll take him,' said Michael impassively. 'He’s ours.’ 

Crowley frowned. If that was the plan then why come and get him? 

‘No,' grunted Hastur. 'He’s ours now. He wants to be a demon, we can see to that.’

‘Oh no you won’t,’ said Crowley dangerously. He was fuming. Hastur's gang of merry demons all took a step back. This was the demon known as Crowley. He could survive holy water. What else could he do?

Hastur’s face twisted so much Crowley thought it might come off.

‘I’ll take him,’ said Michael again. ‘Gabriel will have no choice but to tell the higher ups. The angel Aziraphale will be summoned to the office of the Almighty for disciplinary action.’ Michael smirked and looked straight at Aziraphale. ‘Mummy’s little earth angel won’t get away without being punished this time.’

The demons cackled and guffawed, and Hastur smiled slowly. ‘Very well,’ he said, before looking directly at the angel. ‘See you soon, cupcake.’

Aziraphale was very frightened. He felt a warm hand in his followed by the sensation of being firmly tugged, and he found himself at Crowley’s side, with the demon glaring  _ daggers _ at him. 

Michael witnessed the chastening glare and gave a cold snort. ‘Nothing is more dangerous than a friend without discretion; even a prudent enemy is preferable.’ 

‘Yeah?’ said Crowley. ‘I gave that line to Jean de La Fontaine, actually.’

Hastur stepped towards him. ‘You’d do well to take your own advice,’ he gritted out. ‘Keep your pet angel out of our way. At least Wank-Wings isn’t stupid enough to walk right in the front door. Beats me how the two of you haven’t been reduced to scrap by now. Bloody clowns. Fannying around. An angel and a demon. It’s disgusting.’

‘ _ You’re _ disgusting!’ said Aziraphale childishly, until Crowley smacked him on the arm. 

‘I’ll make sure he understands,’ said Crowley evenly, and Aziraphale felt his knees weaken. He looked away from Crowley’s prying eyes.

Michael smirked. ‘Oh dear. Is your demon daddy going to teach you a lesson, SmellyFail?’ she asked icily.

Hastur chuckled. ‘Going in the dog house, Goldie?’

There was more laughter from the dubious folk in the bar.

‘Here boy!’ called someone. ‘Woof!’  Peels of stupefied laughter came from the bar.

‘Doggy style?’ sneered Hastur. 

It was met with shattering silence, as the vision Hastur’s remark had provoked set off a feeling of true horror among the demons. Michael looked at Hastur with disgust. So did everyone else. 

Aziraphale closed his eyes and tried very hard to pretend he didn’t exist, until he felt a jolt. Crowley was leading him out of the bar.

‘Right then. Have a good day chaps. We’ll be off!’ said Crowley cheerfully, though the grip he had on Aziraphale was anything but easygoing. 

The demons went back to their beers and darts and sneers, as Michael, Aziraphale, and Crowley left the bar. 

The cold night air hit hard, and the comparative quiet rang in their ears as they got to street level. Michael turned to them, the black cape breaking into little bats which fluttered away. 

‘And how will you explain how you came to be here, Wank-Wings?’ Crowley asked the archangel.

Michael gave Crowley a deadly look. ‘It’s better for everyone if nothing is explained,’ came the precise response. 

Aziraphale gaped at Michael. ‘So… we’re not going to heaven. You’re not taking me to…?’

‘No, SmellyFail,’ said Michael. ‘I have… interests here. It’s important they’re not... compromised.’

‘Ha!’ laughed Crowley. 

‘There you go then,’ said Aziraphale with a happy wiggle. ‘No harm done!’ He glanced at Crowley and swallowed as he took in the grim expression on Crowley’s face.

Michael continued. ‘What happens in Soho stays in Soho. But really,’ she said, looking at Crowley and pointing a finger at the angel. ‘You need to get him under control. He’ll blow our operations. And then Heaven and Hell will be less inclined to leave the two of you alone.’

With a sneer, Michael completely vanished. 

‘Right then,’ said Crowley. ‘Home.’ He put his arm around a very guilty Aziraphale and ushered him along the pavement. 

They never did this - Crowley walking along with his angel under his arm in some sort of public display of mismatched middle-aged Soho gayness, but it was very late, or very early (the devil’s nutting hour in any case), and Crowley needed a way to tether his angel to him which didn’t look aggressive. 

To an onlooker, they would look like an affectionate couple strolling along. Crowley was quite enjoying having Aziraphale tucked under his arm like a sweetheart, knowing full well the angel would understand he was being escorted home in disgrace. To Crowley’s pleasure, his angel was not struggling or wriggling, but playing along. What a sweet, if unlikely, couple, people might say. What the onlookers didn’t know is that Crowley was calculating exactly what  _ on earth _ he was going to do about Aziraphale’s behaviour.

They didn’t have to do anything, of course. They could do passive aggressive sneering and indifference like most humans did. But the problem was, Crowley had  _ promised _ Aziraphale that he would never allow his angel to get into that kind of trouble again. At least not get away with it, anyway. He  _ promised _ Aziraphale he would protect him. And he’d  _ threatened _ him with a very particular wrath if the angel disregarded his safety again, like the Blitz, like revolutionary Paris. 

He tugged him closer as they approached the shop, squishing him a little, and kissing him affectionately on the cheek. 

Aziraphale’s heart fluttered at the contact, but he knew that to all intents and purposes he was being dragged home by the ear for what he assumed would be a very uncomfortable little chat.


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley guided his suitably submissive angel into the dark shop and snapped his fingers. Several candles sprang to life as the door closed behind Aziraphale.

The angel looked up at Crowley with big wide eyes, and Crowley looked down at his angel, his lips pursed. He said nothing, but gently removed Aziraphale’s overcoat and hung it up. The angel stood very still, his shoulders slumped, and his only movement being his hands nervously fidgeting in front of him. 

Crowley tried to steel himself. He knew that Aziraphale was trying to look sweet and cute, and ever so sorry, in the hope that Crowley would forgive him and let him go to bed with a nice mug of cocoa. He made a decision, in that moment, to stamp his authority before his angel could talk him out of it. 

He held Aziraphale by his upper arms, firmly but not harshly, and starting to lead him over to the couch, but the angel realised what was happening and starting to wriggle away.

‘Oh Crowley!’ he cried, pulling away, at which point the demon stopped playing nice, and with a nifty strengthening miracle picked Aziraphale up and carried him. He sat on the couch and flung his protesting angel over his knee and began spanking him furiously on the seat of his trousers. 

‘What. Were. You. THINKING?’ scolded Crowley, punctuating each word with a firm swat. The angel squawked and kicked and wailed, the swats raining down in a fusillade. ‘You. Bloody. Idiot!’ He smacked him hard across both buttocks a dozen times, then relented, before somewhat roughly dragging his angel back up and popping him down on the sofa beside him. Aziraphale was very red in the face, pouting, trembling, and sniffing. Crowley again tried to steel himself.

‘Consorting with demons, Aziraphale. Really?’

‘I consort with you!’ 

‘That’s different. We’re friends. Those demons are not your friends!’

He stood and took a deep breath, before coming to rest in front of Aziraphale with his arms folded across his chest.

Aziraphale sniffed. His bottom stung. And he knew Crowley hadn’t even started to lecture him yet. 

‘Why did you go there?’ asked Crowley, his voice low and threatening. ‘Were you seriously asking about demonic possession?’

Aziraphale gulped. ‘I was just… curious. The book said…’

‘The book?’ Crowley realised he’d really missed a few clues. He stalked over to the desk, aware that Aziraphale had sprung to his feet.

‘It’s nothing really!’ called the angel. 

The desk was clear. Crowley tried a drawer but it was locked. He turned to shoot a withering glare at Aziraphale before taking care of it with a miracle. Then he saw it. An old, rare book, for sure. Something he hadn’t seen for centuries. A forbidden text, thought burned and purged from the earth, so old it looked like it could turn to dust, adorned with an impression of Satan. 

He spun around. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’

Aziraphale recoiled at the tone. ‘It’s very… rare.’

‘Yes, it’s rare!’ shouted Crowley. ‘For good reason. Any angel caught messing around with this would be thrown into Hell in an instant.’

‘I don’t think so!’ protested Aziraphale, inching towards Crowley. ‘It’s my duty to know about these things, in order to thwart them.’

He was lying. Crowley calmed down just then. He had underestimated his angel’s misbehaviour considerably. ‘Angel,’ he said quietly. ‘Did you get hold of this book, this actual artifact of ungodly evil, to work out how to pull off possession, for my Halloween surprise?’ 

Aziraphale squirmed. He thought about the fact Crowley had just spanked him, and that was before he knew everything. His throat became very dry. 

Crowley took a step towards him. ‘And this book no doubt had a prophecy in it, about who to contact for assistance, and that’s what led you to the bar?’

The angel swallowed. ‘Well, yes! Incredible the things that are right under your nose. I must say, I didn’t expect to find a hell dimension so close to home. All this time and I never knew.’

Crowley was fuming. ‘So you’ve been sneaking around behind my back, investigating things that could lose you your place in heaven, and went for a clandestine meeting with the Duke of Hell, carelessly enough to be seen by Michael the wanker, and all because of trick or treat?’

Aziraphale pouted. ‘I was going to surprise you,’ he said. 

‘You have surprised me,’ scolded Crowley, harshly. ‘_ I am very surprised at you _.’

Aziraphale looked like he was going to cry. 

Crowley spoke softly. He was so angry, but not as much as he was concerned. ‘You must have known it was wrong and dangerous or you would have told me about it.’

His angel could hardly argue with that. Oh dear. 

‘I thought…’

‘You thought what?’

‘You would be able to see that I could do it.’

Crowley stalked up to him. ‘You can’t! And you won’t!’

‘You can’t tell me what to do!’ Aziraphale stamped his foot. ‘I was up there and I came back down here and I am not just an angel anymore.’

Crowley darkened, thinking it might be time to show his angel just how furious he was. ‘You definitely punch above your pay grade, Aziraphale, but you are still an angel. You’re nowhere near being a demon. Even though, right now, I’m having trouble understanding how anyone this disobedient, wilful, and devious isn’t a demon, we both know you are not. And Halloween is nowhere near a good enough reason to jeopardise that.’

Aziraphale pouted again. 

Crowley sighed. ‘What were you going to possess?’ 

The angel looked ashamed. It felt very silly now, and he had a bad feeling that whatever he said, he would still be heading for quite the punishment. “I… was going to possess…’

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. ‘...the Bentley.’

The look Crowley gave him could have petrified all of creation. 

‘Only a little bit!’ added Aziraphale urgently. He smiled brightly, like it was the happiest thought ‘I thought it could take you somewhere unusual, and you would simply say it had a mind of its own, which it sort of does, but it could play The Spice Girls which would have given you a scare, and…’

Crowley was still glaring.

‘...so you see. It was just a jape.’

Crowley’s displeasure was palpable. 

The angel in front of him sniffled miserably. ‘I’m very sorry, Crowley. I suppose it got it wrong.’ 

‘Like the time you were almost executed while pursuing pancakes?’ 

Aziraphale bit his lip. ‘Yes.’

‘And like the time you thought you could ambush Nazis?’

‘Um. Yes. That too.’ 

‘So you thought you could be evil and possess my beautiful car to mess with me? Why?’

‘Fun.’

‘_ Fun _?’

‘It’s Halloween!’ 

‘Oh angel, if you touch that car without my permission, either with your corporation or without it, either as a silly little joke or a more malicious…’

‘It wasn’t malicious! I just thought I’d spin you around a roundabout a few times.’ 

Crowley gave him the glare to end all glares.

Aziraphale shifted on his feet. ‘It doesn’t sound as funny now. I was going to pop out of the radiator and say boo!’

‘You would have gotten one helluva smack, angel.’ 

Aziraphale hung his head. 

‘Okay. Stupid jokes aside, walking into a known demon bar like James Bond walking into the sodding Kremlin singing God Save The Queen…didn’t you think to at least change your outfit?’

‘No.’ 

Crowley sighed. How frustratingly naive this angel was. But Michael was right. Such indiscretion could be dangerous. 

‘I think you’ve gotten too comfortable, angel,’ said Crowley. ‘We are living on borrowed time, you and I. God - Heaven - Hell, oh fuck knows how long it will be before they start interfering in our lives again. We have to stay vigilant. Hell could see you swanning into that bar and ordering a gin and tonic as an act of war. We’re lucky that both Michael and Hastur are too up to their eyes in corruption to be able to escalate it.’

Aziraphale looked at Crowley apologetically. ‘You’re right,’ he said feebly. ‘I suppose I thought, it’s sort of peacetime, and I’ve seen all sorts in there…’

‘All sorts, yes,’ scolded Crowley. ‘Your sort, no.’ 

Aziraphale gazed at Crowley in confusion. 

‘Angel, you’re not exactly inconspicuous.’

Aziraphale sat on the arm of the sofa with a huff of defeat. 

Crowley continued to chide him. ‘The old Soho bookseller, with his little dicky bow and his lovely warm smile. Always something kind to say, walking straight into one of the sketchiest bars in London? The one the locals scurry away from as soon as it opens at midnight?’

‘Yes alright. I made a mistake.’ 

Crowley came to stand right in front of his angel, and studied him. ‘No it’s not alright. Do you really understand how bad that could have been? Michael had every right to arrest you.’

Aziraphale sulked. ‘But didn’t.’

‘No, but I tell you what, angel, there’s no way Michael won’t use that against us eventually.’

Aziraphale shifted, some defensiveness creeping in. ‘All right. I get it. I messed up. I’m sorry.’ He said it somewhat curtly, and Crowley glowered at him. 

‘What else do you want me to say?’ snipped Aziraphale. ‘You’re the one losing the antichrist and cursing motorways! All I’ve ever done is try to do good.’

Crowley gave him a ‘oh really’ look, anger creeping over him like a rash. ‘Oh _ sure _. Holier than thou, sweet little angel. Didn’t agree to help with temptations to make life easier for both of us. Didn’t agree to thwart the great plan. Didn’t lie to heaven. Didn’t just try to strike a deal with the Duke of Hell in order to play a Halloween prank on your boyfriend, who just happens to be A FUCKING DEMON.’

Aziraphale stood, nostrils flaring. ‘Don’t you swear like that at me! I’m well aware of what you are and what that makes me! I just wanted to do something nice for you and it was going just fine until you swaggered in and made me look like some kind of soppy damsel in distress…’

‘Oh! Would you like to go back, Aziraphale? Come to think of it perhaps you hadn’t finished your G&T! How rude of me. Let’s get you back to the Hellmouth right away and see how that works out for you!’

Crowley caught and ushered him by the elbows as if to lead him out of the shop.

‘Let me go!’ exclaimed Aziraphale, wiggling free of Crowley’s half-hearted grip with a flounce that was far from angelic. He scurried to stand with his back to a wall of books, and watched Crowley approach him with a deadly look.

Crowley moved slowly but surely. ‘You such a spoiled little brat. Wank-Wings was right. You are mummy’s little earth angel, aren’t you! Everything you’ve done and you’re still a walking halo, just assuming you can go everywhere and anywhere you want, and do whatever you like because you’re bathed in glorious light, fucking angelic privilege. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is for me to have to defend an angel, who thinks demonic possession is a funny little Halloween stunt. Did it ever occur to you that demons are the way we are because we fell a million light years all the way into a pool of burning sulphur and became something that defies physics? Yes, we can possess people and things, because we have been tortured out of shape, and all because your mummy didn’t like backtalk?’

‘She’s not my mummy!’ snapped Aziraphale, unintentionally sounding rather petulant. ‘I don’t know what She’s up to. And I can’t... q-question Her.’

‘Oh no?’

Aziraphale's breath quivered. ‘Doesn’t mean I like it, Crowley. Doesn’t mean I think it’s right. And I don’t care what that makes me. You know that. I didn’t mean to make mockery of your… demonhood. I didn’t realise. And I’m sorry.’

Crowley took a deep breath on hearing the sincerity in Aziraphale’s voice. He put his hands on his hips. ‘What you did was the stupidest thing I’ve ever known you to do.’

Aziraphale’s face crumpled and reddened, genuine remorse flooding through as he dissolved into tears. 

‘Hey, angel…’ said Crowley softly. He lifted the sniffing principality’s chin with a thin finger. ‘I actually find the idea of you trying to haunt my car rather adorable.’

The angel’s lower lip wobbled. 

‘But,’ added Crowley. ‘How you got from that to chatting over a pint with Hastur and Michael in a bar literally called the Hellmouth beggars belief.’

Aziraphale sniffed as a tear rolled down his cheek, and Crowley resisted the urge to take him in his arms. 

‘Aziraphale,’ he breathed. ‘I can’t have you living in some perpetual sunny day reality when there are dangers all around. I need you to be prudent. Mindful.’

‘I will be - I promise. I’m sorry Crowley. I’m sorry I’ve upset you. I hope you will forgive me.’ Another tear fell. 

‘You’re already forgiven, angel,’ he said softly, planting a kiss on Aziraphale’s forehead. ‘But you know full well that’s not the end of it.’

The angel’s eyes widened. ‘What do you mean?’

Crowley just looked at him, cocking his head to one side. 

Aziraphale started inching away. ‘I know I was bad, and I went behind your back for a silly, and as it turns out, racist, joke. And I know I did something dangerous because I wasn’t thinking, and I know you think that I need…’

‘Yes?’ Crowley kept stepping towards his retreating angel.

‘...to remember to be more vigilant. But...’

‘But what? Do you really think a few hard smacks over your trousers is sufficient punishment for what you’ve done?’

Aziraphale’s heart sank. He knew what he would do if Crowley had put himself in harm’s way, or jeopardised their freedom for some stupid joke. He thought about other occasions in his life when he’d deserved reprimand. Heaven usually took care of that. But they couldn’t on this occasion, not without risking him being sentenced to extinction. Again. 

‘What about if I write 1000 lines?’ he asked brightly.

‘No.’ Crowley started to unthread his belt.

Aziraphale swallowed and tried to stay focused. _ His belt? Oh shit _. ‘What about if I promise to miracle you anything you like?’

‘No.’ The belt came out of the belt loops, and Crowley expertly looped it over. He stood waiting.

Aziraphale’s eyes went to the black leather and snake buckle. He had wondered… yes, he’d wondered, but wondering was different to reality. _ Now how to placate an angry demon... _ ‘What about if I get you some more holy water, for insurance?’

Crowley face turned to thunder, and Aziraphale realised that was very much the wrong thing to say. Oh yes - manipulation was naughty, he’d been told that before. He tensed as Crowley made a move to grab him. 

Fuming, Crowley caught Aziraphale by the arm and lead him to the sofa. ‘So you’re happy to furnish me with a deadly substance if it manages to get you out of a spanking, hmm?’

‘I don’t want a spanking, not with a belt!’ he cried.

‘No, my incorrigible cherub, I’m sure you don’t, but you _ need _ one.’ 

Aziraphale’s breath hitched. He’d never been hit with a belt before. It sounded very serious. But Crowley wouldn't harm him - not really. Although he did seem very cross, and he was a demon.

Crowley witnessed the thought process flitting across his angel’s face and steadily looked him in the eye. ‘You’ve been a _ very _ bad angel,’ he chided. ‘Tell me I shouldn’t do this.’

Aziraphale sniffed again and looked at his feet. He knew it was useless. The way he was feeling now couldn’t actually be worse than being punished, even with a belt. ‘I can’t,’ he said weakly.

‘Well then.’ Crowley sat down on the sofa and looked up at his angel with a resolute expression.

Aziraphale wrung his hands. ‘Can I keep my trousers on…?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘What about my under…’

‘Nope. Pull them down, or I will.’

Aziraphale sulked and unfastened his trousers indignantly. Crowley noted the attitude, and continued his death glare. The trousers and underwear came down, the shirt long enough to keep some of the angel’s dignity in tact. He shuffled towards Crowley, who reached and gently pulled Aziraphale back over his lap. 

Crowley pushed up the shirt to reveal the plump, obstinate bottom. It was always a pleasing sight to Crowley. He smirked, remembering just how precious this little bastard was to him. And just how stupid Aziraphale had been. He put the belt to one side, saving it for later. 

His hand came down on the naked flesh which wobbled like a pale pink jelly. Several firm smacks followed, with Aziraphale gasping and squeaking. 

‘I’m furious with you, angel. You’ve been idiotic, and careless and wicked. Don’t you dare do anything that dangerous again!’

Crowley spanked him with an open palm for a good few minutes, until Aziraphale was sobbing and trying to kick, but his ankles were bound by the trousers.

‘This is for being thoughtless (smack). For being distracted (smack). For being dishonest (smack). And for doing something that could mean I lose you which is not okay (smack smack smack). You stay away from those bars (smack smack smack smack smack).’ 

Aziraphale twisted and panted as his hide was tanned for the second time. Then it stopped, and he heard Crowley pick up the belt. 

‘Right, angel. This ought to help you remember.’

Aziraphale wriggled away a little.

‘Shush, it’s okay. You’re going to get six licks.’

‘Crowley…’ murmured Aziraphale.

Crowley bent over and kissed the back of his angel’s head. ‘Come on, you can do it.’ 

His angel snuffled, which Crowley tried to ignore. He raised the belt and slapped it across the red bottom in a sharp snap. 

‘Ah!’ shrieked Aziraphale, as a stripe burned across his rear.

‘For someone who wanted to know what demonic possession was like (slap), you should understand that the pain that comes with falling (snap) makes this feel like a tickle on the tummy (slap).’

Crowley had counted four licks, and was trying to ignore his angel bucking and crying in his lap. This truly was nothing compared to the pain of being thrown out, something he desperately wanted to save Aziraphale from. And in this position, he couldn’t even whip him with a good deal of strength. Precious little angel. So spoiled.

‘Two more, Aziraphale. _ Naughty angel _.’

He snapped the belt across the flaming red cheeks, and Aziraphale hissed. And then the finale. Crowley leaned back, to get just a little more leverage, to give his angel just a little more bite. He brought it down with a crack.

There was a shriek from Aziraphale, followed by uninhibited crying. 

Crowley discarded the belt and stroked his angel's hair. 

‘You see, you are not cut out to be a demon. So you stay away from it.’ He rubbed the angel’s back and studied the bottom. It was an angry red, with a few good stripes. He could feel the heat coming off it. 

‘Come on,’ he said to Aziraphale. ‘Up you get. You’re going to stand in the corner for a little while.’

‘No, Crowley, please,’ whined his angel, burying his face in the sofa. Even in the middle of the night, he hated the idea of being on display. He found this humiliation so much worse than being spanked.

Crowley gave him a pointed tap on the inflamed buttocks, and with a squeak, Aziraphale quickly moved off the demon’s lap and allowed himself to be manoeuvred into the corner and next to the gramophone, his trousers and underwear still around his ankles. 

‘Hold your shirt up,’ ordered Crowley. Aziraphale miserably gathered his shirt until he was holding it above his waist. He felt the cool air on his bottom, and hoped no one was looking in through the window. If they were, they would see a red beacon of shame glowing in a corner of the shop. He snuffled as he shifted from foot to foot. 

Crowley snapped his fingers, and the gramophone started to play Al Bowlly’s Guilty. ‘It’s going to play three times, angel,’ explained Crowley. And you’re going to stand there and listen like a good angel. Understood?’

Aziraphale nodded. 

“Is it a sin, is it a crime

Loving you, dear, like I do?

If it's a crime, then I'm guilty

Guilty of loving you…”

Crowley disappeared into the kitchen while the song played, and Aziraphale thought for a brief moment he could drop his shirt, or run away, or do anything really. But he realised what he wanted to do was exactly as he was told. He needed to atone. He’d hurt Crowley by being careless. That demon bar truly was far more frightening than he’d thought it could be. And, he supposed, an angel had no business trying to be demonic anyway. He felt a swell of gratitude, the sting in his rear somehow keeping the guilt at bay. 

The song began its second spin. He could hear clinking in the kitchen. Cocoa. Crowley was making cocoa. And that made him feel worse than ever. He pouted into the corner, and adjusted his shirt to make sure it was definitely showing off his naughty bottom. 

Crowley was determined to make the cocoa in the best human way. The thickest milk, the thickest chocolate, a dollop of cream, and a few mini marshmallows. He thought for a moment and miracled the mini marshmallows away - Aziraphale perhaps didn't deserve such sweet little touches at this time. Then he miracled them back because he loved his angel and wanted him to have the best cocoa experience there was.

The song was half way through its third spin when Crowley came out of the kitchen with the angel mug full of elaborate hot, sweet drink. He placed it down on the coffee table, and sat back down on the couch, this time without an angel over his lap. The song finally ended, the lyrics having filled up the room, and with a snap Crowley brought the gramophone to a stop. 

‘Come ‘ere, angel,’ he called gently. Aziraphale gingerly shuffled over. 

‘Take them off,’ said Crowley, indicating the trousers and underpants. ‘Shoes off. Trousers off. Pants off.’

The angel obeyed, and neatly placed his shoes and clothes on a chair. Now he was completely naked from the waist down, except for his socks and sock suspenders. Comically, he still had his tan waistcoat on over his light blue shirt. He held his hands in front of himself, and was starting to feel fatigue from all the blushing. 

Crowley shuffled to the corner of the sofa and held out his arms. ‘Come ‘ere,’ he said again.

Aziraphale tentatively crawled over the sofa to lie in Crowley’s arms, his heated bottom managing to avoid all contact with anything as he snuggled up to his demon. 

‘Sorry,’ he murmured.

‘I know,’ breathed Crowley. 

The demon held him until the cocoa was just the right temperature for a punished angel to enjoy, letting Aziraphale sit up with a wince. He watched his angel delight in the cream and marshmallows, licking a foam covered finger, his eyes shining appreciatively. Then Aziraphale cuddled back up sleepily, arranging himself over Crowley like a fluffy bear rug. 

It was still a chilly night, so with a deep breath, Crowley allowed his wings to spread and cocoon his angel. One black wing gently covered the naked lower half, the feathers soft enough not to hurt the angel's spanked bottom. He cuddled him until dawn, neither of them sleeping, or talking. Just in and out of presence, whilst absolutely in each other’s arms. 

Aziraphale had quite forgotten his nakedness. Hours later, as the sun rose, Crowley was still petting him, the gramophone was playing a soothing bit of Rachmaninov, and the candles were still burning. Crowley lifted his wing and examined the angel buttocks. They were pink, with some red lines. Just the right amount for a pouty angel. He wanted to take the redness away forever and restore the flesh to its former, lily-white glory. But he couldn’t help but feel that the lesson was necessary. Aziraphale was one to get carried away, distracted, always seeing the good in things, blind to the shadows and the dangers. 

There was an indignant squawk, presumably as a cold draft reached the warm flesh, and Crowley replaced his black wing over the angel’s naked bottom with a chuckle. He kissed him on the head.

‘I’ve thought about you doing that,’ said Aziraphale, finally.

‘Have you?’

The angel nodded. 'Wondered if you would if necessary.'

Crowley was still stroking the fluffy hair. ‘Well now you know.’

‘I couldn’t imagine what I could possibly do to make you do it,’ he said. ‘I know you’ve got frustrated with me sometimes. But I thought, sometimes, I’d like it if you would do it.’

‘Like it? You’re not supposed to like it.’

‘No, I don’t mean _ enjoy _ it. I mean, _ appreciate _ it. Like... absolution.’

‘Feeling guilty, angel?’

Aziraphale hid his face. ‘Scared,’ he mumbled. ‘It used to be so black and white.’

Crowley's heart hurt at the idea. He knew exactly what Aziraphale meant. They were on their side now, but this also meant throwing out the old script and feeling their way, which was pretty scary, and surely going to be rife with mistakes. ‘Maybe you just needed to know I’d stop you.’

‘I like you rescuing me,’ said the angel softly, still hiding his face.

Crowley held him close. ‘You should be careful, angel,’ he said darkly. ‘One of these days someone might have to rescue you from me, if you’re ever that naughty again.’

Aziraphale peeked up at Crowley, who winked back at him. The angel blushed. ‘So no Halloween trick? Or treat?’

‘No,’ said Crowley firmly. ‘You’re grounded for 980 years, until the next millennium. If you’re good, I might get you a marshmallow ghost.’

The angel wiggled against him. ‘What does _ good _ look like?’ 

Crowley frowned at Aziraphale. The angel’s cheeks were pink and his eyes were dancing. He was being squirmy and cute. His hips canted. 

‘Oi!’ scolded Crowley. He snapped his fingers and Aziraphale was suddenly fully dressed.

‘Ah!’ cried Aziraphale at the sensation clothing binding him and chafing his tender bottom. A soft swat followed on his trouser seat, and the angel snuffled, cuddling up apologetically. 

‘It doesn’t look like that, Aziraphale,’ Crowley said crossly. ‘Now behave yourself, or no cocoa till Christmas.’


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: sex sex sex, descending into intense fluff.

**19 days later, on Halloween.**

Aziraphale had decorated: cobwebs, pumpkins, friendly little rubber bats bouncing on elastic from the ceiling, posters of the best witches he’d known hanging in midair like a floating gallery. 

He sipped his pumpkin spiced latte with a contented moan, and thought about his favourite - the gingerbread one - which would come out shortly. He then heard the sounds associated with a certain demon coming downstairs, and removed his coat to reveal a black waistcoat with silver skeletons dancing around it. He stood waiting and grinning.

Crowley arrived on the shop floor, having slept through a large part of the gloomy morning, and walked straight into a hanging rubber bat. 

‘Argh! Angel!’ he complained. 

Aziraphale giggled. ‘Mind the vampire bats, dear.’

Crowley looked around. He wanted to hate it. But the pumpkins glowed a beautiful dark orange, the cobwebs glinted silver, the hall of fame witches were some of his favourite people, and he couldn’t deny that the warm scents of candy weren't altogether unwelcome. There were dishes of sweets and cookies, as well as chocolate shaped devils. 

His angel was dressed most uncharacteristically in black trousers, with a very silly black and silver waistcoat over a white shirt. It was a little too close to the _magician_ for Crowley’s liking, though he didn’t feel like objecting to the way the angel’s outfit hugged his soft curves. 

‘Spooky enough, my dear boy?’ asked Aziraphale earnestly.

Crowley regarded him suspiciously, but with a little smile. ‘Now where does an angel who has been grounded, and forbidden to perform miracles, get all these decorations and sweets, hmm?’

Aziraphale shrugged innocently. ‘The most wonderful thing, Crowley dear. Postman delivered them this morning. Celestial Prime. One click!’

Crowley’s eyes darted to Aziraphale’s old computer, which despite being a defunct model from 1986 which hadn’t turned on for 20 years, was curiously running the most up to date version of Chrome. He rolled his eyes and sauntered towards his angel with his hands behind his back, taking in the full extent of the decorations and delight around him.

‘Aren’t your customers going to find this a little crass, angel?’ he asked, getting closer to the guilty-looking principality.

‘Customers? Dear me, no. This is an important holiday. Shop stays closed during holidays.’

Crowley caught him around the waist and drew him in, as if about to launch into a passionate Latin dance. ‘You would make a good demon,’ said Crowley softly. He planted a warm kiss on Aziraphale’s pink lips, then leaned back to regard his angel’s face.

Aziraphale was beaming. ‘And you would make a good angel. Not sparing the rod. Finding your lost sheep. Forgiveness.’

Crowley smirked. Forgiveness indeed. Manipulative little shit. ‘I’m not going to lift your grounding, Aziraphale,’ he cautioned. ‘Just because of some nice lanterns and things.’

‘Oh but, 980 years?’ whined Aziraphale, settling into an adorable pout. 

Crowley raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh dear. Did I say years? I think I meant hours.’ He winked.

Aziraphale grinned. ‘Oh! Oh you really are very sweet. That’s only…’

‘...40 days. And you can go out, with my permission. But only with me, as your chaperone, to stop you from getting into _trouble_.’

He said ‘trouble’ in way that made Aziraphale shiver. The angel blushed. ‘Well that’s an improvement. Thank you.’

‘That’s fine, angel. Completely fine,’ said Crowley, with a strange levity. ‘Now, Aziraphale, since when do postmen bring pumpkin spiced lattes to the door?’

Aziraphale’s smile vanished. He looked over to his incriminating cup. 

Crowley continued evenly. ‘Now, was that either a) you going outside which is against the rules, or b) you performing a miracle, which is against the rules?’ 

The angel looked rather sorry for himself. ‘Which one is better?’ he asked worriedly.

‘Neither,’ said Crowley darkly, rolling up his sleeves. 

Aziraphale quickly covered his bottom. ‘Oh no Crowley, please! Not in front of the witches!’

Crowley smiled an evil smile, and in what was becoming something of a trademark move, sat down on the arm of the sofa and deftly bent his angel over his knee. He held him in place as Aziraphale struggled and complained, protesting an assault which hadn’t even started yet. 

Slowly, the angel realised Crowley didn’t appear to be going to spank him. He carefully looked up in confusion, and the demon gave him one swift, sharp swat on the bottom. Aziraphale squeaked, and Crowley threw him (it was more of a guided flop) backwards onto the couch. 

‘I don’t know how many times I have to teach you who’s boss, angel,’ said Crowley, crawling over to the surprised angel until he was leaning above him. ‘Or what I have to do to make you behave. But I will keep trying.’ He grabbed his crotch lasciviously. 

‘Ohhh,’ rasped Aziraphale, as Crowley gripped his hips and flipped him so he was on all fours. Another smack landed on his bottom. ‘Ah!’ intoned the angel. And then a sharp intake of breath as Crowley unfastened the black trousers, brusquely tugging them down with the briefs. 

Aziraphale heard Crowley unbuckling _ that belt _ and swooned, rolling his hips, blinded by unforeseen arousal, and trying not to look at the floating posters of the witches. He was about to be fucked into the sofa by his demon for being a naughty angel. The thought made his now hard cock throb and glisten. He rested his head on his forearms, knowing his round bottom was sticking right up in the air, and that Crowley could essentially do anything he wanted with it.

Two fingers, coated in a miscellaneous lubricant (Aziraphale tried not to think about the green jelly that had been on the side) entered him delicately, then moved back and forth until the angel was moving his hips in the same rhythm. 

Crowley continued his demonic preparation. ‘The whole point of the Jack-o’ lanterns is to warn off evil spirits, angel,’ said Crowley. It was almost matter of fact, except for the shallow breathing. ‘You’ve done very badly, angel. Very badly indeed. And now an evil spirit is going to have its way with you.’

Aziraphale made an unintelligible noise as he felt Crowley aligning himself. The scolding voice continued. ‘Just think, if you’d been a better angel, this spirit wouldn’t have gotten in.’

He nudged inside on those words, and sank all the way in with an inadvertent grunt. Aziraphale lifted himself up on his forearms and arched his back to take Crowley as much as he could.

‘Bad angel,’ said Crowley, pulling out, then slamming back in. He held on to the chubby hips and gently canted, eliciting light moans from both of them. His eyes kept drifting closed, but every now and again he was sure he saw the witches smirking. 

He looked down at the angel rump he was currently servicing, and started to move faster, his hips snapping quicker than he could think. Oh yes. He needed to come. And preferably right inside this recalcitrant angel. 

Crowley and Aziraphale both had a great many things they prioritised over sex. But every now and again, when it felt good, and had just the right degree of dubious power play, it was like craving that one superlative dessert and getting it at exactly the right temperature, flavour and quantity. Even then, the pleasured noises made by a certain angel over pudding were nothing compared to the sound of Aziraphale approaching orgasm. 

_Possession indeed_, thought Crowley, reaching around to find his hedonistic angel’s engorged prick was already making a mess. 

‘I shouldn’t let you come,’ said Crowley. ‘So bad.’

Aziraphale whimpered, the crude sound of flesh smacking flesh sending him so far into bliss he could cry. ‘Oh please, Crowley. _Please_!’

‘No, angel. I’m going to, and then I’m going to make you stand in the corner for the rest of the day.’

‘No!’ wailed Aziraphale desperately, trying to push back onto Crowley’s cock. ‘Please, I’m sorry!’

‘You’re sorry?’

‘So sorry! I’m very sorry!’

Crowley chuckled and held the hips tight again, rutting for gold. 

The angel’s orgasmic cries started again, as that clever demon pounded his prostate. Truly one of the best design pieces of all mankind, Aziraphale had often thought. He tried to stroke his dripping cock with one hand, but he lost his balance. Thinking quickly, Crowley grabbed a cushion and stuffed it underneath the angel, before pushing him gently down onto it, without withdrawing from the glorious heat.

Aziraphale immediately began to grind against the doomed cushion, still crying out, and Crowley covered him with his own body, still thrusting. It was a little more effort now, but he was so far gone he threw himself against his angel, writhing and calling his name. He grunted with effort on every thrust, desperately seeking that release, and utterly adoring fucking his angel into the sofa. 

The angel was moaning loudly. He was so close. Crowley recognised the high pitch cries and rutted erratically.

‘_ My bad angel _,’ he breathed, before crying out in surprise as his orgasm hit sooner than expected. He arched and wailed, his hips quite out of control.

Aziraphale could feel white hot seed filling him up as Crowley rocked and pulsed through all the undulations of pleasure. The angel rubbed himself against the cushion, once, twice, three times, and came thoroughly and loudly, not wanting to be left behind after Crowley had taken him so far. He came like a shaken up bottle of hot lemonade, soaking everything beneath him, and feeling perfectly, _perfectly_ evil for doing so. He wriggled into the cushion with a contented grunt, and sighed happily when Crowley fell boneless against him.

**20 minutes later.**

An angel and a demon were sitting in a considerable state of undress, looking vaguely concussed, and making their way through a large bucket of Halloween candy. Aziraphale had chocolate around his mouth, and nothing on from the waist downwards. His shirt was crumpled, and the dancing skeletons waistcoat had popped open at some point. He was sitting between Crowley’s legs. The demon, whose trousers were also missing, was holding up a large jelly snake, and staring at it with an expression of discomfort.

‘Oh don’t take it so personally,’ said Aziraphale. ‘How do you think I feel at Christmas? Everyone eating angel cookies.’

Crowley nuzzled him and kissed his cheek. ‘Oh, poor angel. So demeaned.’

‘Exactly,’ said the angel, wiggling his toes. 

Crowley placed the jelly snake on Aziraphale’s thigh. ‘He’s coming to get you,’ he said with a grin.

‘Ah, sneaky snek,’ chuckled Aziraphale. He reached for another chocolate bar from the bucket. 

‘Uh uh,’ said Crowley, intercepting the grubby hand. Aziraphale gave a mock pout. ‘No more,’ chided Crowley. ‘You’ll make yourself sick.’

'I see you're still saving me from myself, Crowley,' said the angel, sweetly. 'And now we've had quite a bit of trick, and treat. What's next?'

'All Saints' day, angel,' said Crowley. 'If you like, you and I could go out there and make some trouble? Mild little temptations, like old times.'

Aziraphale looked shocked for a moment. And then very excited. 'I thought you weren't going to let me be naughty anymore?' he said, incredulous.

'Oh, angel. Where's the _fun_ in that?' And Crowley grinned his widest, goofiest grin. 

Aziraphale looked at him slyly, plucked the jelly snake off his thigh, and very deliberately bit its tail off. 

'Oi!' shouted Crowley, who began tickling the angel quite mercilessly until he was squealing with laughter.

All around them, the witches giggled silently to themselves. 


End file.
